


publicity and violence

by peterandhispirate



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1970s, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Murder Mystery, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 08:13:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18339689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterandhispirate/pseuds/peterandhispirate
Summary: "I want to report a murder. If you go one mile east of Cleveland Avenue you'll find a kid in a brown car. I shot him with a 9MM luger. Have a nice night."





	publicity and violence

**Author's Note:**

> based on the film zodiac (2007); title from "the waves" by virginia woolf

The first murder went off like a bomb. It wasn't that Columbus was a stranger to violence - as far as cities went, it was nowhere near the safest. No, what made this particular killing so explosive was the phonecall that followed.  
  
_"I want to report a murder. If you go one mile east of Cleveland Avenue you'll find a kid in a brown car. I shot him with a 9MM luger. Have a nice night."_  
  
The cops did, in fact, go one mile east of Cleveland Avenue and found a teenager shot dead in a brown Chevy. Disturbing, but not entirely unusual.  
  
Then it happened again six months later. Two victims, one phonecall. Same voice.  
  
_"I want to report a murder..."_  
  
Then came the letter, sealed in a stained envelope and addressed to The Columbus Dispatch. That's where Josh worked - not as a reporter but as a cartoonist, curly-haired and shy and only twenty-five.  
  
His colleagues didn't like him very much. Maybe it was a superiority thing. Maybe he was just strange.  
  
Josh was on his way to his boss's office when the letter reached its destination, sketches clutched in one hand and a cup of coffee sizzling in the other. He smiled at people as he went by, quick and nervous and sincere. His palms were sweaty for no particular reason. This was typical.  
  
With both hands occupied, he was forced to knock on the door with his elbow and nearly spilled his drink in the process. Then he waited, shifting his weight from foot to foot with that same jittery energy he carried with him everywhere.  
  
No one answered at first, but he heard a muffled ensemble of voices coming from inside, so he knocked again. This time the door was flung open in a hurry, nearly smacking him in the nose. The person responsible for the almost-smack wasn't his boss but a pale-faced, round-eyed coworker.  
  
"What do you need?" he asked, practically barked it, and Josh blinked, stupidly apologetic.  
  
"I, uh." He held up the sketches. "I just wanted t'get these panels approved."  
  
"Let him in," said someone from further inside the office; Josh recognized his boss's voice almost immediately. Peering shyly past the man who answered the door, he found his supervisor hunched over his desk, a whirlpool of papers laid out in front of him.  
  
Eventually the seemingly nauseous colleague stepped aside, and Josh gave him one of those borderline uncomfortable smiles as he shuffled past the threshold.  
  
The door was promptly shut behind him.  
  
There were four other guys crammed into the office, all of them more important-looking than Josh, who handed over the sketches and tried not to look hurt when they were shoved back into his fingers three seconds later.  
  
"They look fine."  
  
Eyebrows knitting together, Josh glanced over his shoulder at the quartet of anxious faces gathered behind him. Turning back to his boss, he swallowed and said, "May I ask what's going on?"  
  
His boss didn't say a thing, simply sliding a piece of paper across the desk towards him. Josh craned his neck, squinted, and started reading.  
  
_Dear Editor,_  
  
_I am the killer of the teenager last Christmas at Minerva Park + the two girls last 4th of July. To prove this I shall state some facts which only I + the police know._  
  
Only a paragraph or two in and Josh's heart was already sitting pretty in the pit of his stomach. He scanned the list of facts in a trance: the brand of ammo, how many shots were fired, where the victims were struck. It was all so awful, God fucking awful, and yet he kept reading. He had to.  
  
_Here is a cipher or part of one. The other 2 parts are being mailed to the Columbus Citizen Journal + Columbus Free Press. I want you to print this cipher on the front page by Friday afternoon Aug 1-70. If you do not print this cipher, I will go on a kill rampage Friday night. This will last the whole weekend. I will cruise around killing people who are alone at night until Sunday night or until I kill a dozen people._  
  
The bile sliding up Josh's throat was bitter and hard to swallow. He wanted to throw up, or rip the paper in half, or both. He wanted to scream.  
  
But he didn't do any of those things. He just stood there, clammy and pale like the rest of them. Powerless.  
  
"So," he croaked once he pulled his voice from the depths of his paralysis. "Are you gonna publish it?"  
  
His boss's face was cemetery-solemn. "I don't think we have a choice, Josh."  
  
Josh nodded, but he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel much of anything.  
  
He left the office on legs that were somehow stiff as a board and on the brink of collapse at the same time.  
  
They didn't have a choice.  
  
                                            ;  
  
Once the cipher was published, people treated it like an elusive crossword puzzle: everyone was trying to crack it. Friends, family, neighbors, schoolchildren.  
  
Josh was no exception. In fact, he wanted to figure that shit out more than anyone. That's why he sat at his desk and pored over books about puzzles and symbols and codes. It's not like anybody cared what he was up to anyway.  
  
But somebody did care, and that somebody nearly made Josh piss his pants when they tapped on his desk out of nowhere and said, "Any luck, Sherlock?"  
  
"Huh?" Josh sputtered, jolting his nose out of the book so fast he got whiplash. "I, uh, I don't think so. I mean, this guy really knew what he was doing when he came up with all this stuff. He must be real smart. Smarter than me, anyway."  
  
The inquisitor raised both eyebrows at him, and only then did it occur to Josh that this was a familiar face - Tyler Joseph, the only coworker who actually smiled back at him. And he was repaying his kindness by rambling like a teenager on acid. Fantastic.  
  
"I feel like I'm being rude," Josh said all in one breath, pink-faced and self-consciously smoothing down his curls with one hand. "I'm Josh."  
  
Tyler leaned against Josh's desk, arms crossed and one corner of his mouth twitching higher than the other. "I know. You've worked here awhile."  
  
"Not as long as you," Josh mumbled, almost embarrassed. But Tyler didn't seem to find him embarrassing.  
  
"Long enough for me to know who you are," he said, tapping one of the unfinished sketches on Josh's desk. "You're the cartoon guy."  
  
Josh's face lit up a little. "And you're the reporter guy."  
  
That's when Tyler leaned down all secretive-like, mumbling, "Yeah, well, I write pornos on the side. Don't tell anybody."  
  
"Our secret," Josh assured him with a grin so big and bright that it rivaled the sun; Tyler clapped him on the shoulder.  
  
"Atta boy, Josh."  
  
Josh snorted kind of wistful and stuck his nose back in his book - _Secret Writing: An Introduction to Cryptograms, Ciphers and Codes._ Eyeing the cover curiously, Tyler spoke up again, saying, "Y'know, I'll give you twenty bucks if you crack this guy's name."  
  
"He's not gonna give his name," Josh replied without looking up.  
  
"You don't think so?"  
  
Josh shook his head.  
  
"Huh." Tyler scratched at the stubble along his jaw. "Guess we'll see."  
  
                                           ;  
  
For the first time in nine months, Josh fell asleep at his desk, head in his arms and dangerously close to drooling all over his research. If it wasn't for Tyler poking him awake, he probably would've spent the night at the office.  
  
"I didn't realize real-life murder mysteries were so boring, Detective Dun," Tyler said once he stirred, sporting a smile so amused that it bordered on fond.  
  
Josh lifted his head in slow motion, rubbing at bleary eyes with the back of one hand. "They're a little too exciting, I think."  
  
"You were right, by the way. About the name thing."  
  
And suddenly Josh was wide awake. He sat bolt upright, stray curls sticking up here and there, and said, "Really? Who cracked it?"  
  
"Couple'a schoolteachers in Lancaster," Tyler replied, handing him the translation, which Josh looked over with mounting horror.  
  
_I LIKE KILLING PEOPLE BECAUSE IT IS SO MUCH FUN IT IS MORE FUN THAN KILLING WILD GAME IN THE FOREST BECAUSE MAN IS THE MOST DANGEROUS ANIMAL OF ALL TO KILL SOMETHING GIVES ME THE MOST THRILLING EXPERIENCE IT IS EVEN BETTER THAN GETTING YOUR ROCKS OFF WITH A GIRL THE BEST PART OF IT IS THAT WHEN I DIE I WILL BE REBORN IN PARADISE AND ALL THAT I HAVE KILLED WILL BECOME MY SLAVES I WILL NOT GIVE YOU MY NAME BECAUSE YOU WILL TRY TO SLOW DOWN OR STOP MY COLLECTING OF SLAVES FOR MY AFTERLIFE._  
_EBEORIETEMETHHPITI_  
  
Josh placed the paper on his desk with hands that trembled, as if he was handling a loaded gun. Noting the look in his eyes, Tyler shook his head and said, "Some people, man. No wonder God fucking hates us."  
  
It took Josh a good long moment to collect himself enough to clear his throat, point, and ask, "What are those letters at the bottom?"  
  
"I dunno," Tyler admitted, squinting at the string of nonsense. "Leftovers, maybe."  
  
But that wasn't good enough for Josh, who grabbed the closest pen and started scribbling down different combinations of the letters, desperate to make sense of them. Desperate for a name, or a clue, or _something_. Anything.  
  
"You're pretty good at those," Tyler piped up once Josh had three or four possible sequences written down. "You sure you're not a CIA agent or some shit? I'm not really buying the whole cartoonist thing."  
  
Josh shrugged, not looking up. Still scribbling. "I just like puzzles."  
  
"Yeah. I see that." Tyler watched him feverishly jot down a few more solutions before tilting his head and asking, "How'd you know he wasn't gonna give his name?"  
  
Josh didn't even lift his head. He just kept writing, and pausing, and writing again - a slave to the cipher. Just kept mumbling, "Man is the most dangerous animal... Man is..."  
  
And Tyler could only shake his head, because this boy was awfully strange.  
  
                                           ;  
  
Another day, another tragedy. Newlyweds having a picnic by Lake Erie. One survivor - the boy.  
  
"Poor kid," Tyler sighed, leaning against Josh's desk in a display of camaraderie that was gradually becoming an everyday thing. Meanwhile, Josh was doing what he did best: moving his pencil across paper like he was possessed. This time he wasn't trying to crack a code but sketching, sketching, sketching.  
  
"I dunno what I'd do if I survived something like that," Tyler went on before stealing a curious glance at whatever Josh was drawing. Forehead creasing, he squinted and said, "The fuck is that?"  
  
Josh leaned back in his chair so the sketch could be revealed in full. It was a depiction of the killer in costume - baggy black clothing and sunglasses worn over an oversized hood.  
  
"The kid who survived said our guy looked like this," Josh explained, and stopped. And stared. And said, "Holy shit, dude."  
  
Tyler barely had the chance to say _what?_ before Josh was scrambling out of his chair and across the room, disappearing from view entirely and leaving Tyler to wonder what the fuck was going on. Thirty seconds later and he was back, clutching a book titled _The Most Dangerous Game_ and practically lunging into his desk. Tyler watched with raised eyebrows as Josh flipped frantically through the pages until he found what he was looking for: a black-and-white film still of someone dressed identical to the killer.  
  
Naturally, the first thing out of Tyler's mouth was "what the fuck?"  
  
"It's from a movie 'bouta guy who hunts people for sport," Josh explained, looking up at him with brown saucers for eyes. " _Man is the most dangerous animal of all_. Remember?"  
  
Hands twitching, Tyler tugged at his collar like it was getting tighter by the second. "How could I forget?"  
  
Josh looked back down at the still, quietly mortified. Then he swallowed, face moon-pale, and said, "He's hunting people."  
  
They both went dead silent for a beat or two, as if the terrible godlessness of it all was just starting to sink in. Four people dead, three of them children, and no justice. Never any justice.  
  
"I think I need a drink," Tyler spoke up after awhile, reaching out to squeeze Josh's arm - comfort through pressure. "Wanna hit the bar with me after work?"  
  
"I don't drink," Josh said, almost apologetic, but Tyler just snorted.  
  
"Well, nobody's gonna make you."  
  
Josh felt an angel-pink warmth start to creep up his neck and onto his face. It had something to do with the way Tyler was looking at him, all dark eyes and crooked teeth. It was the look that made Josh clear his throat and say, "I guess I'll tag along."  
  
And he did tag along. He kept up with Tyler's long-legged strides all the way to the bar, desperate to convince his new friend that he wasn't nearly as twitchy and socially stunted as their coworkers claimed. They never invited him to anything. Not a single goddamn thing.  
  
It felt nice to be included.  
  
Tyler ordered whiskey while Josh watched the ice cubes bob around in his glass of water like little boats. He zoned out for a spell, only looking up when Tyler leaned forward, elbows on the bar, and said, "Tell me about yourself. Got a wife? Kids?"  
  
"Nope," Josh replied, semi-sheepish. "But I've got a dog. His name's Jim."  
  
"Never been much of a dog guy," Tyler admitted, "but I'm sure he's very nice."  
  
Josh smiled. "He is."  
  
"So what d'you do for fun?" Tyler asked, lifting the shot glass to his mouth while Josh quietly struggled to remember what the fuck he did in his free time, exactly.  
  
"Well, I like to read... and I like books..."  
  
"Those are the same things."  
  
Joah blinked. "Oh."  
  
Tyler snorted - endeared, not annoyed. Then he narrowed his eyes a little and asked, "How did you know he wouldn't give his name?"  
  
Josh shrugged like it was no big deal. Maybe it wasn't. "Just guessed."  
  
Tyler raised both eyebrows. "Guessed?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Huh," Tyler said, and sipped at his whiskey. "Cool."  
  
Josh was mildly infatuated, stealing wide-eyed glances at Tyler's pink mouth and wondering if it tasted sweet or savory. Then he cleared his throat and said, "Well, it's pretty obvious this guy isn't a pro or anything."  
  
Tyler licked his lips. Josh's bet was on sweet. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"  
  
"Think about it. Who actually cracked the code?"  
  
"Those two teachers in Lancaster."  
  
Josh nodded, frantic with excitement. " _Exactly_. It was just a simple substitution code."  
  
Skeptical, Tyler snorted and said, "Some of us are stupid, Josh."  
  
"You're not stupid," Josh insisted, and pulled a crinkled copy of the cipher from his pocket. Setting it on the bar, he said, "It looks hard, but you just have t'know where to start-"  
  
"You really carry that shit around with you?" Tyler interrupted, making Josh's face turn three shades pinker than usual.  
  
"I, uh. Yeah. Why?"  
  
"No reason," Tyler said, chewing his lip to derail an oncoming smile. "Keep going."  
  
Doing his best to recover from his own crippling embarrassment, Josh went on to say, "The double L is the most common double consonant in the English language. What's the one word we know this guy will use?"  
  
Tyler's face sobered with understanding. "Kill."  
  
"Yeah, exactly. So those teachers looked for double symbols with the same two symbols in front of them," Josh said, tapping the cipher as he spoke. "That gave them a repeating four letter word ending with two symbols they assumed stood for L, and since they thought the whole word was _kill_ , that gave them the symbols for K and I. And they were on their way."  
  
Tyler leaned back on the stool, arms crossed and eyebrows scrunched together. Josh could practically hear the wheels in his head twisting and turning. When they finally stopped spinning, he looked over at Josh and asked, "What do you want out of this, man?"  
  
This time it was Josh's turn to furrow his eyebrows. "I, uh. I dunno. Nothing?"  
  
"No, seriously. What's your angle? This is good business for everyone but you."  
  
"S'not business," Josh said, voice soft and eyes round. Perfectly naïve and yet smart enough to crack codes crafted by serial killers.  
  
Tyler seemed to be at a loss. "Then what is it?"  
  
A pause. And then, "I just really like puzzles."  
  
Tyler just sat and stared at him for awhile, like Josh was the real cipher that needed to be solved. Like he was made up of billions and billions of symbols, all of them unique and oh-so confusing. A beautiful headache.  
  
Josh felt the same way about him. That's why the air stalled in his chest when Tyler leaned in close, _dangerously_ close, and mumbled, "I've got a few puzzles sitting in my apartment if you ever wanna drop by and solve 'em."  
  
"I'll, uh..." Josh swallowed, getting drunk on the addictive warmth of Tyler's whiskey-breath. "I'll keep that in mind."  
  
                                             ;  
  
Another day, another funeral. A cab driver shot in the back of the head.  
  
Another day, another letter. Another cipher. Another mystery to solve.  
  
Columbus had become a murderer's playground.  
  
"Kinda weird that he went after some middle-aged driver and not another teenager," Tyler remarked on a Tuesday afternoon, claiming his usual spot next to Josh's desk. The cartoonist was actually doing his job for once, but his heart wasn't in it. If only his brain wasn't a hotbed of theories with no off switch.  
  
"He's prob'ly trying to break the pattern," he mumbled as he outlined the panels in pen, absentminded as ever.  
  
Tyler scratched at his jaw. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."  
  
The distress weighing heavy in his voice got Josh to lift his head. Capping the pen, he placed it carefully on his desk and asked, "What's wrong?"  
  
The fingertips left Tyler's face so he could run them through his hair - another nervous tic. Then he said, "I got a really messed up phonecall last night."  
  
"Messed up how?" Josh asked, already up to his waist in nausea. He had a bad feeling about this.  
  
"Just, like, heavy breathing."  
  
Josh's mouth went dry. "You think it was..?"  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me," Tyler admitted, lifting his shoulders in a helpless little shrug. "I cover crime in Columbus, remember? I've been writing about this shit since the beginning."  
  
"Do you live alone?"  
  
"Yep," Tyler said, popping the p, and if Josh wasn't sick to his stomach before, he definitely was now.  
  
"Maybe you should leave town or something." He was doing that thing where he rubbed his arms and chewed his lip and tried really hard not to cry. "I don't think... I don't think you're safe here. Like, at all."  
  
But Tyler seemed to have resigned himself to his fate when he said, "Nobody is, my man. There's an unidentified killer on the loose."  
  
"Yeah, but-"  
  
"I'm not skipping town," Tyler insisted, cutting him off. "Can't afford to."  
  
Josh opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again to say, "Okay."  
  
So much defeat packed into one little word.  
  
No matter how much he tossed and turned, Josh couldn't fall asleep that night. He just kept picturing Tyler's rail-thin body riddled with bullet holes, destined to be another victim in another headline: _Columbus Reporter Found Dead._  
  
It was with those images in mind that Josh scrambled out of bed, pulled on a jacket, and drove all the way across town to Tyler's apartment at one in the morning. Because he'd rather be safe and paranoid than reluctant and regretful.  
  
He prayed Tyler would understand that sentiment when he answered the knock on his door, hair sticking up every which way and wearing nothing but boxers.  
  
"What's going on?" was the first thing he said, voice raspy with sleep and confusion. "Is everything okay?"  
  
"Yeah," Josh breathed, relieved to find him in one piece. "Yeah, everything's fine. Just wanted to make sure you're not getting murdered or whatever."  
  
Tyler looked at him blankly with half-lidded eyes. "I'm not."  
  
"That's, uh. That's good." Josh ran trembling fingers through his curls, trying so fucking hard not to look at Tyler's happy trail. He stared at his shoes instead, looking like some kind of guilty puppy who found himself stranded at Tyler's doorstep.  
  
Naturally, Tyler took pity on him, stepping aside in a wordless invitation to spend the night; when Josh opened his mouth to object, Tyler rolled his eyes and said, "Just come inside, dumbass."  
  
So Josh went inside.  
  
Tyler's apartment was a little messier than Josh's, but there were no cockroaches running around, so it was clean enough. Josh was so busy looking around that he jumped when Tyler brushed past him, padding across the floor and into the bedroom without a word. There was nothing left to do but follow him, so that's what Josh did, only to stop at the threshold like some kind of unwanted vampire.  
  
"I can sleep on the floor if you want," he told Tyler, who had already buried himself under the sheets.  
  
"You're not gonna sleep on the floor, Josh," he mumbled, curled on his side with his eyes closed. "Now get over here and go to sleep."  
  
Josh lingered at the door a few seconds longer before obeying, crawling underneath the covers and trying his very best not to brush up against Tyler's half-naked twig body. Laying stiff as a corpse with his hands on his stomach, Josh stole one selfish glance at Tyler's back, at the tender skin between his shoulder blades. Kissable skin.  
  
Josh didn't leave any kisses. He shut his eyes and went to sleep, because Tyler was safe. No bullet holes. No headlines.  
  
No headlines.  
  
                                              ;  
  
"I got an anonymous tip."  
  
"From who?" Josh asked, glancing up from the book he was reading. It was a Saturday morning and they were at the gun range - Tyler was doing the shooting, obviously.  
  
"I dunno. That's why it's anonymous, genius." Reloading the handgun with careful fingers, Tyler said, "Whoever it is, I'm gonna meet 'em downtown tonight. You wanna tag along?"  
  
Josh shrugged. "I'd prob'ly just get in the way."  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"What if it's an ambush or something?" Josh pointed out, closing the book and setting it on the bench beside him so he could give Tyler's reckless ass his full attention.  
  
"This is why I bought a gun," Tyler said and held up the weapon in question. Josh watched it glint in the artificial light, heaving a powerless sigh because he knew there was no convincing him otherwise.  
  
"Then go, but be super careful. Bring a flashlight - and a knife. In case the gun jams."  
  
Tyler snorted, tenderly amused, and said, "Okay, Mom."  
  
Then he turned back to the targets and fired a few more rounds, each _pop_ making Josh's heart sink a little bit further into his stomach.  
  
He worried about Tyler for the rest of the day and well into the night. It was 11PM and he was pacing his apartment like an animal in a cage, hungry but too nauseous to eat. Jim sat and watched him agonize over Tyler's whereabouts with his head tilted sweetly to one side, and Josh almost wished they could trade places. Dogs don't have to worry about ciphers or serial killers or the unkissed skin between Tyler's shoulders.  
  
"I should call," Josh mumbled to himself, crossing his kitchen for the thirteenth time so he could unhook the phone from the wall. Twisting the cord nervously around one finger, he spun the dial around and around and around, and then he waited.  
  
That was the worst part. The waiting.  
  
When someone finally picked up, Josh could've passed out with relief. But he didn't pass out. He said, "Tyler? Thank God you haven't left yet. I've got a really bad feeling about this anonymous tip, man."  
  
A nauseating silence. And then the breathing. Heavy, horrible breathing.  
  
Josh's blood ran so cold that he went numb with frostbite. He didn't breathe, didn't blink, didn't bother saying _hello?_ because he knew exactly who was on the other end.  
  
He put the phone back on the hook in a trance. His brain was like that of a rabbit darting beneath the wheels of a moving car: paralyzed with an ancient animal fear. But somewhere inside that brain was the urge to _do_ something, because how could he just stand there?  
  
Maybe Tyler was on his way back from downtown Columbus. Maybe there was still time to get to him before the bastard who answered the phone.  
  
Maybe there was still time.  
  
Josh went from incapacitated to seething in a matter of seconds. He tore out of his apartment in a whirlwind of horror and hysteria, down flights of stairs and across the parking lot, yanking open the driver's side door, key in the ignition, key in the ignition, key in the ignition, go go go.  
  
_You've still got time._ Josh gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles drained of color. _You've still got time._  
  
Josh combed the darkness as he went, looking for that familiar smile in every nighttime shadow. But all he ever found was another pitch-black cesspool for a killer to hide in.  
  
He kept looking, because he still had time. No more headlines. No more bullet holes. Not for Tyler.  
  
_Tyler_.  
  
Josh slammed on the brakes so hard that it was a miracle he didn't go through the windshield. There was his favorite reporter, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyebrows furrowed when he turned to investigate the squeal of the tires.  
  
Almost forgetting to put the car in park, Josh joined Tyler on the sidewalk, throwing his arms around him in a hug so tight that it put bears to shame.  
  
"Oh, God," Josh blubbered against his neck, eyes blistering with tears. "Oh, Tyler. Thank you God. Thank you thank you thank you."  
  
"What's going on?" Tyler asked, startled but still reaching up to stroke Josh's curls.  
  
Josh lifted his head to look at him with eyes that were more white than brown. "He's in your house, Tyler. Oh, God, he's in your house. He's waiting for you."  
  
"How do you..?"  
  
"I called," Josh croaked. "I had a bad feeling, so I called, and he picked up. I thought... _fuck_. I thought I was too late."  
  
"You weren't," Tyler assured him, fingers curled snug around Josh's shoulders - anchoring him. "You weren't. I'm right here. I'm okay."  
  
"What are you gonna do?"  
  
"I'm gonna call the police and get the fuck out of here. Move to Cincinnati or some shit."  
  
"Thought you couldn't afford to," Josh said, silently thanking God that he finally had the good sense to leave this shitshow behind.  
  
"Yeah, well." Tyler sucked in a breath and let it go. "Things have changed."  
  
"What about the tip?"  
  
"Just some old dude trying to get his fifteen minutes of fame," Tyler said, but he didn't seem disappointed. Just happy to be alive. "It doesn't even matter. I don't wanna be any deeper in this shit than I already am."  
  
"Me neither," Josh mumbled, taking Tyler by the hand and tugging him towards the car. "C'mon. Let's get out of here."  
  
"Wait." Tyler dug his heels in, and when Josh turned to ask him what was wrong, he cupped Josh's face in his hands and kissed him.  
  
Josh was right. Tyler's mouth tasted sweet.  



End file.
